Revisit? I Think Not

Written in response to the Daily Post’s Daily Prompt:

Never Again

Have you ever gone to a new place or tried a new experience and thought to yourself, “I’m never doing that again!” Tell us about it.

Last year Studly Doright and I accompanied friends to a contra dance. Here’s that tale:

Path? What Path?

Written in response to the Daily Post’s Daily Prompt:

Alma Mater

You’ve been asked to speak at your high school alma mater — about the path of life. (Whoa.) Draft the speech.

The Path of Life

There is no path, no paved road, not if you live your life.

In the words of C. G. Jung,


Instead, you must forge your own path, laboriously clearing trees and climbing over boulders in the rain, but occasionally enjoying stretches of level ground in the warm sunshine.

There will be times when you believe you can climb any mountain. There will also be times when you are certain that the next step will be impossible to take. 

Through it all you keep going. One foot in front of the other. Good days and bad. Mountains and valleys.

Of course, I prefer to dance and skip as often as possible. No one said the journey had to be boring.
Peace, people!

Hail to the Beach

Written in response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt:

Sudden Shifts

You’re at the beach with some friends and/or family, enjoying the sun, nibbling on some watermelon. All of a sudden, within seconds, the weather shifts and hail starts descending from the sky. Write a post about what happens next.

Part I

A perfect day:
picnic lunch
followed by
a nap on a
blanket covering
sun-warmed dunes.
Toes dipped in
surf by frolicking
grandchildren on
moist shoreline sand,
while doting adults
watch in vigilance.
Waves resignedly
fail in their quest
to overtake dunlin
despite their
best lapping efforts.

 Part II

Clouds gathered,
rolling in on
gusts of frigid air,
sharp precursors of
coming attractions.
Urgent warnings
called out, squealing
kids for once take
heed, scampering for
cover beneath a
blanket anchored
by sturdy adults.
A barrage of hailstones
direct from cumulonimbus’
towers batter those
human tent stakes
for an endless minute.


Part III

As quickly as it
began the storm is spent.
Jubilant children,
no worse for the onslaught,
race back to the
foam for reunion
with the salt, and
the sun, and the sand.
Bemused grownups
examine their own
bruises, shrug
and move forward,
back to lifeguarding.
It’s what they
do best.


Greeting card photo by Brian Mollenkopf.

Peace, people!

Connect Four

The Stat Connection

Go to your Stats page and check your top 3-5 posts. Why do you think they’ve been successful? Find the connection between them, and write about it.

After fooling around with my stats page by going to a place that I didn’t know existed, I discovered that I do have access to stats that are more than a week old. I’m so pitifully unsavvy about accessing such things. Poor, poor me.

But to find my top-viewed and best liked posts I didn’t have to go back very far at all. All of these were published in 2016: 

Without You

A Pauper’s Death

Bathtub Follies

Piano Player in a Whorehouse

I hope I’m learning to connect with readers more, and certainly I’ve learned how to interact with other bloggers in more productive ways.

Try as I might, though, I cannot find any connection between these four posts, other than that they were all written by me.

Without You and Bathtub Follies are both slice-of-my-life stories and have a bit of humor to them, but A Pauper’s Death is a rather mournful poem, and Piano Player in a Whorehouse is a bit of futuristic fiction set in a post-Trump presidency America.

If I knew what made them succesful I’d copy down that formula and sell it; although, to be honest they weren’t THAT succesful. One of these days, though, as God is my witness, I’ll publish a piece that gets more than a mere 55 hits. And then, I’m going to celebrate with a donut.

Count on it.

Peace, people!

<a href=””>The Stat Connection</a>

Love the Name You’re With

Written in response to the Daily Post’s Daily Prompt:

Say Your Name

Write about your first name: Are you named after someone or something? Are there any stories or associations attached to it? If you had the choice, would you rename yourself?

The story of my first name, Leslie, hinges upon the story of my middle name, D’Aun

My mother had a close friend whose daughter was named D’Aun, (pronounced Dee Awn). Mom was enamored of the name, but didn’t want to infringe on the friend’s daughter’s name. And I suppose that might’ve been awkward.

“D’Aun, stop that right now!”

“But Mommy, I’m not doing anything!”

“Not you, D’Aun–D’Aun!”

So rather than deal with the confusion and the imagined penalty of name theft Mom elected to find a first name to precede the name D’Aun. Apparently that was no easy task. Many names were considered and subsequently discarded.

Then as my mom’s due date drew near her mother, (my Nanny), found my name while reading a book. The heroine was Leslie. And that name seemed to fit well with D’Aun. 

I’ve always believed the book Nanny was reading was Giant by Edna Ferber. It was published in 1952, and I was born in ’56, so the timing would’ve been right.

In the film version of Giant, Leslie is played by Elizabeth Taylor, so that only adds to my certainty that I am the character’s namesake. I mean, just look at her and then look at me! Or not.

The pronunciation of our names is different, though. Having only seen the name in print my Nanny believed Leslie was pronounced with a soft “s” sound, whereas in the film it’s a “z” sound.

Oh, that friend of Mom’s with the daughter named D’Aun–I don’t recall ever having met her. As is often the case friends from those early years drift away and are never heard from again. They could’ve left D’Aun as my first name and no one would’ve cared. 

There was a time in my life when I wished to have that romantic sounding moniker. D’Aun! I imagined in high school how much different my life might be as a D’Aun! But plain old Leslie suits me. I don’t think any other would fit me quite as well.

Peace, people!

Lone Star Cuisine

Written in response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt:

Live to Eat

Some people eat to live, while others live to eat. What about you? How far would you travel for the best meal of your life?

I’m a Texan by birth, and even though I haven’t lived in the Lone Star State in well over two decades I still crave a couple of foods that just have no peers anywhere else on the planet.

The first is a chicken fried steak. 

 While one can order a chicken fried steak outside of Texas there is some undefinable attribute that is missing when this dish is served elsewhere. I am actually capable of making this comfort food, but making good gravy is not my forté. 

The other food I must travel to Texas to enjoy is chili Relleños. I’ve had Relleños served a hundred different ways, but in Texas the product is fairly consistent.

I’ve never attempted to make Relleños. Studly Doright doesn’t like them, so it seems a bit wasteful to cook them just for me. 

The question posed by the daily prompt was how far I’d need to travel to partake of my favorite foods. Thanks to Google, the answer is just a click away.

In ten hours or less I could be at my middle brother’s home in Houston. That’s totally doable. Start the car.

Peace, People!

Twice as Nice

Second Time Around

Tell us about a book you can read again and again without getting bored — what is it that speaks to you?

Generally when I’ve finished reading a book I’m done with it, regardless of how wonderful or well-written it was. There are two books, however, that I’ve read multiple times and will read again: Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird and Stephen King’s The Stand.

To Kill a Mockingbird should be mandatory reading for every citizen of this country. If one ever doubted the existence of white privilege Ms. Lee spells it out in this tale of racism and heroism in a small southern town. 

King’s The Stand is the most frightening book I’ve ever read. Good and evil literally battle for dominion of the earth in this post-apocalyptic thriller. Often I joke that I read portions of it with my eyes closed. 

In both cases movies have been made from these novels, and I believe a remake of The Stand is in the works. By all means watch the films, but the books are worthy of reading and reading again. 

Note: I’ve also read all of the Harry Potter books numerous times, but I’d already broken the prompt’s rule and didn’t want to go to Daily Prompt prison.

Peace, people.;


Cockney Twang

Written in response to the Daily Post’s Daily Prompt:

Voice Work

Your blog is about to be recorded into an audiobook. If you could choose anyone — from your grandma to Samuel L. Jackson — to narrate your posts, who would it be?

This old gal from Texas would quite enjoy hearing her thoughts narrated by the beautiful songbird, Adele. It’s always a bit of a shock to absorb her bright Cockney accent after having heard the richness of her singing voice. 

My words in her voice. Bring it on!

She could narrate in song, too.
Peace, people!

Eleanor Rigby

Written in response to the Daily Post’s Daily Prompt:

This Is Your Song

Take a line from a song that you love or connect with. Turn that line into the title of your post.

“The Lyrics”

by Leslie Noyes

My head is
full of
they roll
my soul like
honey and

These words
soothe and attack,
seek and destroy,
reduce and elevate.

My only
is to
join my
voice to
the melody,
to the
or sob.

I’m reduced to tears every time I hear  “Eleanor Rigby” by The Beatles. I’ve highlighted my favorite line.

Eleanor Rigby

Ah, look at all the lonely people
Ah, look at all the lonely people

Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice in the church where a wedding has been
Lives in a dream
Waits at the window, wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door
Who is it for?

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?

Father McKenzie writing the words of a sermon that no one will hear
No one comes near
Look at him working, darning his socks in the night when there’s nobody there
What does he care?

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?

Ah, look at all the lonely people
Ah, look at all the lonely people

Eleanor Rigby died in the church and was buried along with her name
Nobody came

Father McKenzie wiping the dirt from his hands as he walks from the grave
No one was saved.

All the lonely people (Ah, look at all the lonely people)
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people (Ah, look at all the lonely people)
Where do they all belong?

THE BEATLES lyrics are property and copyright of their owners. “Eleanor Rigby” lyrics provided for educational purposes and personal use only.
Copyright © 2000-2016

Another Saturday Night

Written in response to the Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: 

Tell us about the most exciting big night out you’ve had lately.

Life at Doright Manor is tame. Generally, a big night around here involves watching an extra episode of Ray Donovan while splurging calories on a second Shiner Bock.

Yet once a month we head to Studly Doright’s golf club for a rousing night of trivia competition. I know, a lot of readers will be jealous, as they should be. You see, in addition to the trivia, there is music, great food, and just enough wine to make me feel like a wittier, prettier person. And, I’m not bragging, sometimes we even stay up past midnight!

January’s event was especially fun because our friends from Indiana were in town and we dragged, er, invited them to go with us. I don’t know about them, but I had a blast. We didn’t win the competition, but we didn’t come in dead last either. 

I’m certain today’s prompt was written specifically to demonstrate what a lackluster life I live. Gee, thanks WordPress.

Peace, people!

A little Cat Stevens for your entertainment (following the dadgum ad)”>Saturday Night</a>

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